


Adapting Austen

by scarlettcat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Austenland - Freeform, Explicit Language, F/M, Fake Regency, Humor, Post Hogwarts AU, Remix, Romance, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 17:44:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4755359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarlettcat/pseuds/scarlettcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Lucius in Azkaban and the Malfoy assets frozen, Narcissa decides to make ends meet by capitalizing on a certain Muggle book craze that is sweeping the post-war wizarding world. As fate would have it, this particular book just so happens to be Hermione Granger's biggest obsession. Welcome to Austen Manor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hermione's Hobby

**Author's Note:**

> My remix couple is Jane Hayes and Henry Nobley from the movie _Austenland_. If you have not seen this movie (you should!), it's about an obsessed Jane Austen fan who goes on the trip of a lifetime to a Jane Austen-themed resort called Austenland. It is the funniest movie I have ever seen, and I had a lot of fun writing this fic. Too much fun, I guess, because I had to ask for several extensions to get it finished. So, thank you to Amethyst18 and the other mods for their extreme patience and understanding and for letting me still participate in the fest even though I was way, way past the deadline. I would also like to give a big thank you to dormiensa who did the beta work on this fic. She definitely went above and beyond to help me get this fic submitted. There were a lot of late nights! 
> 
> In the writing of this fic, I manipulated various scenes/lines from _Austenland_ and Jane Austen's works as well as from the 1995 BBC adaptation of _Pride & Prejudice_ to use for my own silly purposes. It was all done out of love. :) Also, I should probably warn you that you should not expect to find Regency accuracy here. After all, that is not in the spirit of my prompt. I did try a little though. ;) I hope you enjoy my little (although much longer than I anticipated) tribute to Jane Austen and _Austenland_. Happy reading!

“No.”

“Just read it.”

“No. It's Muggle. And girly.”

“That may be, but it is the key to our salvation. I don't think you are aware of quite how dire our situation is. Do you want to sell off your vintage Chocolate Frog Card collection? Or your racing broom?”

“No.”

“Do you want to leave behind your comfortable life as a wizard of leisure to get an entry level job in the Ministry?”

“No.”

“Do you want to lose our home which has been in the Malfoy family for generations? To live in a... cottage?”

“No.”

“Do you want to be even poorer than the Weasleys?”

“No!” exclaimed Draco, suddenly looking horrified.

“Then read the frigging book!” snapped his mother.

…...............................................................................................................

“Are you done yet?”

“No,” said Hermione, not looking up from her book.

“You know, it's really rude to invite me to tea and then completely ignore me,” Ginny scolded.

“I didn't invite you,” Hermione pointed out. “You barged in completely unexpected.” 

“Well, I wouldn't have to barge in if you ever thought to invite me,” Ginny huffed.

“I've been busy.”

“Doing what? Reading?”

When Hermione didn't answer, Ginny pleaded, “Would you please just put the book down and talk to me?” 

“But I'm at a good part,” Hermione protested.

“Ooh! Are they having sex?” asked Ginny, suddenly interested.

“No,” said Hermione, giving her an annoyed look. “He's proposing. It's the part where he tells her that he loves her against his will because he feels like her family is inferior to him.”

“'Why would he tell her that? He sounds like a moron.”

“He is not! He's just... proud.”

“Well, you don't tell a girl you don't like her family. He's not going to get in her knickers saying shit like that.”

“It is not that kind of book. It's... oh, never mind,” said Hermione, putting down her book. “Why are you here?”

“I'm here because I've missed you. We've all missed you. It's time you came home.”

Hermione looked uncomfortable. She took a sip of tea before she answered her friend. “I'm just not ready, Gin.”

“It's been five years.” 

“Has it?” replied Hermione, looking genuinely shocked.

“The wizarding world has changed a lot since you've been gone.”

“Have they freed all of the house-elves yet?”

“Well, no,” Ginny admitted.

“Then it hasn't changed that much.” Hermione sniffed.

“Well, how is you living like a Muggle helping that?” Ginny retorted.

“I don't know. It's just what I need to do right now,” huffed Hermione.

Ginny looked at her shrewdly. “Is this about Ron?”

…...............................................................................................................

“He's a bore.”

“He is not. He's sophisticated and refined. He's a gentleman.”

“I'd rather be Wickham. I'd look dashing in a red uniform.”

“Mr. Wickham is a good-for-nothing scoundrel.”

“Exactly. He drinks. He gambles. He gets it on with the slutty younger sister. He's the only bloke in the entire story who has any fun. Why would I want to get stuck being dull-as-a-doorknob Darcy?”

“Because he is the hero.”

“So? What good does that do him? He gets stuck with Elizabeth Bennet in the end.”

“What's wrong with Lizzie?” asked Narcissa, sounding affronted.

“She talks too much. And she thinks she's so clever. She's annoying. She reminds me of Granger.”

“Hermione Granger?”

“Yeah. They're both annoying, know-it-all swots with their oh-so-clever comebacks and their fine eyes looking down on us and always judging–”

“You think Miss Granger has fine eyes?”

“No! I just meant that she... has eyes. Judgy eyes. Well, at least she did. I haven't seen her in five years. But the last time I saw her eyes, they were definitely judging me.”

“Well, to be fair, she was being tortured in our parlor,” said Narcissa diplomatically.

…...............................................................................................................

“You act like the whole thing was torture. So things didn't work out between you and Ron. Who cares? It's no reason to run away.”

“I didn't run away,” Hermione protested. “I just needed a change of scenery.”

“And you changed your scenery to this?” Ginny said, looking around the room and making a face. “Who was your decorator? Madam Puddifoot?”

“This looks nothing like Madam Puddifoot's,” said Hermione, sounding offended. “It's Regency-inspired. And I think it's lovely.”

“So, what did Ron do to inspire this lovely change of scenery?” asked Ginny sarcastically.

“He didn't do anything really. He just wasn't 'the one'.”

“And you couldn't find 'the one' in the wizarding world?” 

Hermione sighed. “I can't find 'the one' anywhere. This isn't just about Ron. It's all men. They are just... such a disappointment.”

“Of course they are. They're men,” said Ginny matter-of-factly. “What did you expect?”

“I don't know. I just thought if I came to the Muggle world, it would be different. That they would be different. But they're all only interested in one thing.”

“Sex?”

“No. Sports. And I can tell you that Muggle football isn't any more interesting than Quidditch. Whatever happened to romance? I think I was born in the wrong century.”

“Your problem is that you read too much. You have unrealistic expectations.” 

“There is no such thing as reading too much. And what's wrong with expecting something epic? Why should I have to settle?”

“Because men like the ones you read about in your books don't exist. Take this Mr. Darcy character all of the witches are going bat shit crazy over–”

“You know about Mr. Darcy?” Hermione said in surprise.

“Yeah, he's the love interest in this new Muggle book that's all the rage right now.”

“ _Pride & Prejudice_ is not a new book.” 

“You know how long it takes to get to us,” said Ginny dismissively. “Anyway, I haven't read it, but apparently, this Mr. Darcy is swoon-worthy.”

“Yeah, he is,” agreed Hermione with a sigh.

“And so now all of these witches are expecting to find a Mr. Darcy in real life. But they're never going to find him. You know why? Because he's made up.”

“Just because he's made up doesn't mean he isn't out there somewhere.”

“Are you even listening to yourself? Mr. Darcy isn't real. He's a fantasy. The only place he exists is in the minds of deluded women. And at Austen Manor, I suppose.”

“Austen Manor?”

“Oh, that's right. You haven't heard. Because you've been missing for five years,” said Ginny pointedly. “Apparently, there is this new place called Austen Manor that completely immerses you into the world of _Pride & Prejudice_. It's super expensive and preys on all of the Jane Austen wackadoodles that have suddenly cropped up all over the wizarding world. Lavender and Parvati went last month. I think they both blew their entire life savings on it. They're both crazy-obsessed with the whole thing. They said it's just like being in an Austen novel. There are hot guys in tight breeches and a ball and everything.”

Hermione looked skeptical. “If Lavender and Parvati liked it, it's probably a male dance review or something else highly inappropriate.”

“I wish. No, it's the real deal. Supposedly, you have to wear a corset and use proper manners, and I heard they even make you take an exam to test your knowledge of the Regency period before you can fully participate.”

“There's an exam?” said Hermione, her eyes beginning to sparkle.

“Pretty stupid, huh? And all of the activities sound really dull. There's drawing and painting, embroidery, music, reading and basket weaving. I mean, basket weaving, can you believe it? It's making me yawn just saying it out loud. I can't believe people actually waste their money on this crap. Oh, and you'll never guess who's running it. It's none other than–”

“Where is Austen Manor?” asked Hermione, cutting her off.

“Wiltshire or Loserville. I forget which.”

“How do you get there?”

“By being a loser.”

Hermione scowled at her.

“You're not seriously interested in this place, are you?”

“Ginny, I have a confession to make. I've been hiding something. The reason I came to the Muggle world is because I have a secret love–”

“I knew it!” Ginny squealed. “You're secretly married to a Muggle, aren't you? Is he here?” she asked, quickly looking around the room for some sign of wedded bliss. She even lifted up a couple of the throw pillows as though she thought he could be hiding under there.

“What? No! I mean, I'm kind of in love with someone, and he is a Muggle, but it's not what you think. If I tell you, do you promise to keep an open mind about it?”

“Okay,” said Ginny hesitantly.

“I'll be right back,” said Hermione, disappearing into her bedroom. She came back out carrying a life size cardboard cutout. Plopping it in front of Ginny, she said, “What do you think?”

Ginny looked at the cardboard man skeptically. “To be honest, he looks a little bored. As in cardboard. You know, Fred and George make blow-up ones that are anatomically correct and come with 'special features'. I can get you one for your birthday if you want.”

“This is Mr. Darcy. Well, the 1995 BBC version of him, which is, of course, the best. Isn't he handsome? He's the reason I came to the Muggle world.”

“He's cardboard,” said Ginny again. “Look, I know Ron isn't any real prize. He can be a real doofus sometimes, but at least he's real. This is crazy, Hermione.”

“I'm not in love with a piece of cardboard, Gin. I'm in love with what it represents. _Pride & Prejudice_ has always been my favorite book. After the war, it became a much needed escape. And in the past few years it has become more than that. It's become a way of life. When I found out there were other people out there who love it as much as I do, I had to come here. There are whole societies here devoted to Jane Austen. I'm the treasurer for our local chapter.” 

Ginny pulled one of the embroidered pillows out from behind her and gave it a closer look. It said, 'I heart Darcy' on it. “Oh, my Merlin. You're one of them. One of those creepy Jane Austen wackadoodles.”

“We prefer to be called Janeites or Janeophiles.” 

“Well, I guess you can come home now. We have those societies in the wizarding world now, too. It's like some kind of weird cult that seems to be spreading.”

“It's not a cult. It's a hobby.”

“It's creepy,” said Ginny, suddenly noticing the tiny Mr. Darcys lined up on a shelf near her. She studied them warily. “It's like they're staring at me.”

“They're called bobbleheads. They're very collectible.”

“This is worse than I thought. We need to leave now. Burn the whole place to the ground. Make a fresh start,” said Ginny, grabbing her hand.

Hermione shook her off. “You're overreacting. I knew you wouldn't understand.”

“You're right. I don't understand. It's just a book.”

“It is not just a book. It is THE book.”

Ginny gave her a pitying look. “You're wasting your life away living in a fantasy world. And now you want to waste all of your money going to Austen Manor. You can't live your life with your nose always stuck in a book.”

“It's not always stuck in a book,” Hermione insisted. “I write Jane Austen fan fiction, too.”

“You are not helping your case,” said Ginny, rolling her eyes.

“I don't see what the big deal is. You're just as obsessed with Quidditch as I am with Jane Austen.”

“The difference is that you're neglecting your family and friends and everything that you used to care about. What about the house-elves? Have you forgotten about them?”

“No, of course not. I've just been...”

“Busy?” said Ginny pointedly.

“Okay. I see your point,” admitted Hermione. “It's gotten a little out of control.”

Ginny held up one of the bobbleheads. 

“Okay a lot out of control.”

Ginny looked thoughtful for a moment. “You know what? I think you should go to Austen Manor.”

“You do?” said Hermione in surprise.

“Yes, I'll arrange everything. I think it's just what you need to get this 'hobby' out of your system once and for all so you can finally move on with your life. I have a pretty good feeling that the reality is not going to live up to the fantasy. In fact, I think that after only a week of the Austen experience, you're going to wish Mr. Darcy never existed. I would bet my best Quidditch broom on it.”

“I don't think you know me very well.”

Ginny laughed. “I don't think you know _me_ very well.”


	2. Regency Realism

“Guess who's coming to Austen Manor.”

“Yet another pathetic Elizabeth Bennet wannabe,” replied Draco in a bored voice, remaining in his lounging position on the sofa even though he knew his mother disapproved of such slovenly behavior.

“Hermione Granger.”

“Granger?” exclaimed Draco, sitting up in shock. “Granger's coming here?”

Narcissa nodded. “Tomorrow. Although it's of no real consequence to us. I thought with being a war hero that Miss Granger might have some money, but it turns out she's quite poor. Been living as a Muggle working in a dusty, old bookshop. If you were to become attached to her, it would help our reputation, but what good is a reputation without money? We'd be better off with a girl who has money and then we could just buy our reputation.”

“Why would Granger come here?”

“Apparently she's one of those pathetic Elizabeth Bennet wannabes you previously mentioned.”

“But after what happened,” sputtered Draco, unconsciously looking at the spot on the rug in the parlor where he last remembered seeing her, “why would she want to come here of all places?”

“She seems to be ignorant of the fact that Austen Manor and Malfoy Manor are one and the same.”

“And you didn't think to inform her of that fact?”

Narcissa shrugged dismissively. “The war is over. I'm not turning away good Galleons over some trifling amount of awkwardness you might experience.”

“I would hardly call my potential demise at the hands of a vengeful witch a trifling bit of awkwardness,” muttered Draco.

“You are being overly dramatic.”

“She hates me.”

“Then you will have to charm her. Are you Mr. Darcy, or aren't you?” 

“I am Mr. Darcy, but only because you're making me,” grumbled Draco.

“Well, then you should be thanking me. Miss Granger may hate Draco Malfoy, but she loves Mr. Darcy. Use it to your advantage. Just be careful not to fall in love with her.”

“Like that would ever happen,” scoffed Draco.

“Speaking of love, Miss Parkinson is coming back. Perhaps, you could actually try this time to make a connection with her.”

“Mother, how many times do I have to tell you? Pansy and I are just friends. And I use that term loosely. There is absolutely no way I could ever make a connection with her, let alone marry her,” said Draco, making a face.

“Fine. There are two other young women who may be possibilities. Please just try to keep an open mind. And behave yourself.”

“I don't see why I have to be thinking about marriage right now,” grumbled Draco. “I'm in the prime of my life.”

“Because your life isn't going to be very prime without any money.”

“Don't give me that,” said Draco, looking at his mother knowingly. “I happen to know that we make quite a bit of money with this racket we have going here.”

“Do you think I enjoy living in a Jane Austen amusement park?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

Narcissa shrugged indifferently. “Perhaps, but I guess the more important question is, do you?”

 

…...............................................................................................................

 

True to her word, Ginny arranged everything. All Hermione had to do was empty her Gringotts account. Priceless experiences apparently did come with a price. A big one. When the Portkey arrived the following week, she was pleased to see that it was a beautiful cameo necklace. Its Regency accuracy gave Hermione high hopes for her trip to Austen Manor. However, when she touched the necklace to begin her life-changing journey, she found herself landing not so gracefully in a small room that was rather sparsely furnished. The room was tastefully decorated in the Regency style, but there was nothing very special about it. She might as well have been in her own tiny living room at home.

The disappointment on her face must have been showing because the other woman who suddenly tumbled into the room said, “Don't worry. This is just the stopping point where we get our instructions. They'll take us up to the big house after we're dressed in proper attire.”

“Lavender?” said Hermione in surprise.

“Hello, Hermione. Ginny told me you would be here. So, you're an Austen fan, too, huh?”

Hermione nodded. 

“You're going to love it here. It's just like being in one of her books. So, which package did you go with?”

“Copper.”

“Ooh,” said Lavender, making a face. “That's too bad. As they would say in Regency times, the copper package sucketh. I found that out the first time around. That's why I'm back. You should have at least sprung for the silver package.”

“What's wrong with the copper package?” asked Hermione, getting worried.

“For one, I hope you enjoy walking.”

“I don't mind walking.”

“Good. Because you are going to be doing a lot of it.”

“Well, that doesn't sound so bad. The fresh air will do me good.”

“And don't count on having any fancy dresses,” said Lavender. “With the copper package, the clothing is all rather plain and simple. Some of it is downright ugly.”

“I'm not really that into clothes anyway.”

“Yes, I remember,” said Lavender, giving her the once over. “Well, I hope you're not that into choosing your character either. When I had the copper package, I got stuck being Charlotte Lucas. And I can assure you that the guy playing Mr. Collins is even worse than the character is portrayed in the book. I actually fell asleep at the dinner table one evening because the dinner conversation was so bad.”

Hermione looked crestfallen. “You mean, I spent all of that money, and I'm not even Elizabeth?”

Lavender snorted. “Not a chance. Elizabeth is strictly platinum package. But don't worry. Even if you do get stuck with Mr. Collins, all of the servants are hot. And you still get to interact with the other characters. You just don't get the scripted romance. If we're lucky, whoever is playing Elizabeth will be some really homely witch, so we still get lots of attention from the men.”

“Is there anything else I should know?”

“Yeah. Lady Catherine is a bitch. And Mr. Darcy–”

Lavender was cut off by the arrival of a haughty-looking woman dressed full-out in the height of Regency fashion. Hermione could only assume that it must be Lady Catherine. The woman was older but still very beautiful. Her snowy white hair was carefully arranged on top of her head, and she held herself with a grace and regalness that commanded attention. Hermione had a funny feeling that she had met this woman before, but she couldn't imagine where.

The woman sat down at a table and motioned for Hermione and Lavender to join her. She rang a little bell, and a servant immediately came in carrying a tea tray.

After the servant left, she asked, “Would you care for strong or weak tea?”

“Weak tea, please,” replied Hermione politely. However, at the condescending look of her hostess, she quick changed her mind, not wanting her choice to inadvertently become a reflection on her character. “I'm sorry. What I meant to say was strong tea. Please.”

Her hostess arched one eyebrow. “If you say so, my dear,” she said, pouring the tea into the delicate teacup before her.

“Sugar?”

“No, thank you.”

“Milk?”

“No, thank you?” said Hermione with so little commitment that it might as well have come out a question. After all, it was hardly tea without milk. However, seeing the smirk forming on the woman's face, she repeated her answer with more conviction.

Much to Hermione's dismay, Lavender ordered her tea weak with two sugars and lots of milk. 

“Welcome to Austen Manor. You may refer to me as Lady Catherine. I will be your hostess for the week. During your stay, you will get the full Austen experience. From the clothing and conversation to the food and activities, you will be immersed in the Regency period. There will be no modern day conveniences at all, except of course for the indoor plumbing. Please do not use the chamber pots,” she said, giving Lavender a hard look and making her blush. “They are merely for decorative purposes. And as this is a Muggle experience, there will be no magic and no wands allowed. There is a lock box in your room for your convenience. I must warn you that if you are caught with a wand, you will be removed from the premises, and there will be no refunds,” she said in a severe tone.

“As this is your first stay at Austen Manor, Miss Granger, you will need to read through this pamphlet I have prepared with a synopsis of the book as well as important information you will need to know about the Regency period. The experience is only as good as you are willing to make it. I trust you to study this with the utmost care.”

“I can assure you that I am well versed in Miss Austen's works and have already done extensive research on the Regency era in preparation of my stay here,” began Hermione enthusiastically. At the cold look Lady Catherine gave her, she added meekly, “But I will definitely be reading this pamphlet.”

“Very well. I shall give you your assignments now. Miss, Brown, as you have been with us before, and I have become acquainted with your personality, I have decided that you shall be playing the part of Lydia Bennet.”

“Ooh!” squealed Lavender in excitement. “I get to fuck Wickham!”

Lady Catherine cleared her throat, giving Lavender a disapproving look.

“What I meant to say was I get to elope with Wickham,” said Lavender timidly, looking for Lady Catherine's approval. At Lady Catherine's approving nod, she enthusiastically added, “And doeth the nasty!”

Lady Catherine let out an exasperated sigh. “Yes, well, I think Lydia will do for you perfectly. Now, Miss Granger. You will be playing the part of Miss Kitty Bennet.”

“Kitty?” said Hermione in surprise. “But Kitty is so silly and stupid. Perhaps I could–”

“Miss Granger,” Lady Catherine interrupted, obviously losing her patience. “I think there are some things you should be made aware of. You paid for the copper package. The bare minimum level of Austen experience. If I were you, I should count myself lucky. Mr. Denny is quite dashing. I am sure you will be very satisfied. However, if you insist, I would be happy to change your character to that of Charlotte Lucas instead. I have Mr. Collins on standby.”

Out of the side of her eye, she saw Lavender shake her head vigorously. Hermione gritted her teeth and replied, “No, thank you. I am sure I will be quite happy as Kitty.”

“I thought so,” said Lady Catherine with a smirk. 

Hermione took a sip of her too strong tea and tried not to openly glare at her hostess.

“Here at Austen Manor, our purpose is not to recreate scenes from a beloved novel but to use it as inspiration to create our own stories. That is why we have so many repeat customers,” she said, nodding her head at Lavender. “Every trip to Austen Manor is unique. But one thing is for certain: all of our heroines experience that one true love that only happens in an Austen story.”

Lavender sighed dreamily and even Hermione couldn't help getting her hopes up a bit.

“However, please keep in mind that this is not a brothel. Much like Austen's books, the romance at Austen Manor is always chaste and never inappropriate.”

Lavender nodded solemnly. However, when Lady Catherine turned away to summon a servant, Lavender looked over at Hermione and made a crude hand gesture that was not at all chaste, and Hermione had a hard time suppressing a giggle.

Lady Catherine looked down her nose at them. “I suppose we'd better get started to make you two presentable.”

…...............................................................................................................

After what seemed like hours of torture, Hermione was finally deemed presentable enough to meet Lady Catherine's standards of what a proper Regency era lady should look like. Hermione thought she would be more prepared for this since she had attended plenty of conventions over the years, but they were nothing like this. This was hardcore. Her corset, while not as torturous as the Victorian version, was still extremely uncomfortable. She couldn't even bend at the waist nor did she have full mobility of her arms. Even worse was her hair. It was pulled back so tautly in a coil at the back of her neck that her face was starting to go numb. 

At first she had felt a little sorry for the woman who had been charged with doing her hair, as it was always so unruly and hard to manage. Of course, that was before the woman started viciously attacking her hair with a brush and hair pins. The hairdressing session was so intense that Hermione and her stylist both let out several swears that were more than likely not appropriate for the period. Hermione had not thought to study Regency swear words.

Looking at herself in the mirror, Hermione could hardly believe her eyes. She didn't look like herself at all. Her hair had never been so perfectly in place before. She hated it. The severe style didn't suit her at all. It was parted in the middle and was extremely unflattering. And her dress wasn't much better. It was brown and had a high, frilly neckline. She had never felt frumpier in her life. A lumpy Weasley jumper would look downright sexy next to this getup. The only thing positive that she could think to say about it was that it was definitely authentic Regency frumpiness. The most painful part of the whole experience, although finding out she had to go without knickers was a close second, was when she saw Lavender.

“Lavender, you look beautiful,” said Hermione, trying not to sound too jealous.

“I do, don't I?” said Lavender, twirling around the room in her white muslin gown, her golden ringlets bouncing around her face merrily. “And you look–” Lavender stopped mid twirl when she finally caught sight of Hermione. “Oh, my God! You're hideous. What did they do to you?”

“Is it that bad?” asked Hermione, her hand going up to her hair self-consciously.

“Here. Take my bonnet. I can go without.” 

Hermione gratefully took the bonnet and put it on. “Any better?”

The face she made didn't give Hermione much confidence. 

“It will have to do,” Lavender whispered hurriedly, nodding her head at the door. “Her highness is coming.”

Lady Catherine walked back into the room to give them both a quick once over before they left for the big house. “Yes, very nice,” she said, appraising Lavender. Turning to Hermione, she added, “And you look... tolerable. Very well, let's go. And don't forget to put on your gloves. A lady never goes anywhere without her gloves.”

They quickly put on their gloves, grabbed a parasol each and followed Lady Catherine outside to where a carriage was waiting for them. The driver assisted Lady Catherine into the carriage and then Lavender. When Hermione stepped forward to follow them, Lady Catherine stuck her head out of the window and said, “I'm sorry. This carriage only holds two passengers.”

“Oh, okay,” said Hermione, not sure what to do. “Should I wait here for the carriage to come back for me?”

“I'm afraid the carriage is needed at the house,” she said in a fake apologetic voice. “You don't mind walking, do you?”

“But how will I find my way to Austen Manor?” Hermione asked, trying not to let her panic show in her voice.

“You may follow our tracks. But do make haste,” said Lady Catherine, looking up at the sky. “It looks like rain.”

Hermione watched the carriage drive off with a horrible sinking feeling in her stomach. What had she gotten herself into? So far this experience was nothing like she thought it would be. It was going to be really aggravating if it turned out that she'd spent all of her money just for Ginny to be right. Hoping things would get better once she arrived at Austen Manor, Hermione set off at a fast pace, determined to beat the impending rain. She wished she had thought to ask how far from Austen Manor they were. As of yet, it was nowhere in sight.

Trying not to feel discouraged, Hermione continued her trek along the dirt road following the seemingly endless tracks of the carriage. The wind soon picked up and a sudden gust blew Lavender's bonnet right off her head. It might have been romantic had it happened in a movie, but as there was no handsome gentleman there to catch it for her, it was just rather depressing watching it sail off into the distance. Her only consolation was that the wind soon freed her hair of its oppressive bonds. It probably looked a right mess blowing wildly around in the wind like that, but she felt much more like herself.

Her relief was short-lived though because at that moment, big, fat rain drops began falling from the sky. She fumbled around with her parasol and finally managed to get it open. However, as it was meant for sunny skies, it was of little use against the rain. And as soon as the wind caught a hold of it, the whole thing turned inside out, making it completely useless. As she let go of it in the wind to meet the same fate as Lavender's bonnet, she couldn't help thinking she had made the biggest mistake of her life. So far, the Regency period wasn't romantic at all. It was completely miserable. 

Crap copper package.


	3. Draco's Darcy

Hermione trudged on through the mud, her skirts getting heavier and heavier, and yet there was still no sign of Austen Manor in sight. Just as she was about to give up all hope, lay down and let the wild dogs finish her off, she heard what sounded like a roll of thunder getting louder and louder by the second. She looked up just in time to see a horse and its rider barreling toward her with no appearance of stopping. She let out a piercing scream, and the rider, finally noticing her, pulled hard on the reins. The horse reared up and when it came back down, it landed in a rather large puddle right in front of her, soaking her in muddy water from head to toe.

“What the bloody hell do you think you're doing riding your horse in such a reckless manner?” Hermione shouted angrily. “Are you insane?”

“Well, I was thinking about rescuing you,” replied the rider indignantly, “but now I'm rethinking the matter. Seeing as you're being so ungrateful about it.”

“Ungrateful!” huffed Hermione. “You almost killed me!”

“I almost killed you? You're the one standing in the middle of the road. Didn't your parents ever teach you that was dangerous, not to mention stupid?”

“Are you calling me stupid?” Hermione asked in disbelief, completely outraged at the thought. “You're the one who was riding too fast and wasn't watching where you were going. That kind of irresponsibility and selfish disregard for the safety of others is what's stupid.”

“I don't know what you're so angry about. I stopped in time, didn't I? Lucky for you I have fast reflexes. So, do you want me to rescue you or not?”

“You drenched me in muddy water and almost killed me. I don't need your kind of rescuing. And I'm not some damsel in distress that needs that type of thing anyway. I can take care of myself, you male chauvinist–” 

The man chuckled and jumped down from his horse, landing in front of her. “Feisty as always, I see.”

Hermione wiped the mud from her face and looked up into familiar gray eyes. “Malfoy?” she said in surprise, momentarily forgetting her anger. 

“At your service,” he said, bowing mockingly.

In shock, Hermione noticed his Regency attire. “What are you doing here?”

“Getting wet,” Draco replied morosely, pushing his drippy bangs away from his eyes.

“No, I mean, what are you doing at Austen Manor?”

“I unfortunately live here.”

It suddenly dawned on her. “Lady Catherine is your mother. I knew she looked familiar. I'm going to kill Ginny.” 

“Come on,” he said, holding out a hand to help her on the horse. “I'll give you a ride back to the house.”

Hermione looked at the horse warily. “I'd rather walk. Just tell me which way to the house.”

“It's a mile to the house,” said Draco exasperatedly.

“I am an excellent walker,” said Hermione stubbornly.

“I have no doubt. You seem to excel at everything,” he said sarcastically. “But perhaps you haven't noticed that it's pouring rain. You'll catch your death. And I do mean death. Mother is very strict on historical accuracy. I can assure you the blood-letting and leeches are not a pretty sight.”

Hermione let out a sigh. “I can't. There is no way that I can get on a horse in this dress,” she admitted. “I can barely breathe.”

“Are you a witch, or aren't you? Just you use your wand.”

“Magic isn't allowed,” said Hermione guardedly, not trusting that Draco wouldn't tell his mother and get her kicked out. She had spent a lot of money on this stupid holiday, and she was sticking it out if it killed her. And she was beginning to think it might.

Draco's eyebrow arched. “Since when do you ever bother with the rules?”

Hermione didn't answer but stood there looking stubborn.

“My hair is getting ruined,” Draco complained.

“Why don't you use your wand?” asked Hermione pointedly.

“Mother took it away,” Draco grumbled. “She didn't trust me not to do magic.”

“You've been living like a Muggle all of this time?” gasped Hermione.

“Even worse. A Regency Muggle. Now, are you going to get on this horse, or aren't you?”

“I told you I can't,” Hermione persisted.

Draco sighed warily. “Are you sure you can't use your wand?” he asked again with a slight note of pleading in his voice. When Hermione still refused, he reached forward and grabbed a hold of the front of her dress. 

“What are you–” began Hermione, trying to pull free of him.

“This is probably going to hurt me more than it is you,” he said as consolingly as possible. And with that, he ripped the entire front of her dress open. 

“You ripped my dress!” exclaimed Hermione in shock.

“Isn't that what they always do in these types of scenarios?” he said in a roguish manner.

“Jane Austen did not write bodice rippers. She wrote intelligent...”

Hermione was about to give an impassioned speech on Jane Austen's works but lost her train of thought when Malfoy suddenly began feeling her up. She was so completely caught off guard that she just stood there while he rooted around in her bodice. After a fair amount of fondling, he finally found what he was looking for: a rigid, wooden busk, and removed it from her corset. Had it not felt so good to be rid of that hindrance, she would have slapped him in the face.

“There. That wasn't so bad, was it?” he asked with a smirk.

Seeing the annoying smirk on his face, Hermione changed her mind and slapped him full in the face.

“Yeah,” said Draco, rubbing his cheek. “That's what I thought.” Cracking his knuckles, he said, “Hard way it is.”

He forcibly picked her up with her kicking and screaming and threw her over his shoulder. She put up a good fight, but he held on tight.

“What are you doing! Put me down this instant!” demanded Hermione, pounding her fists against his back.

“Would you stop beating the crap out of me!” exclaimed Draco, still wrestling with her. “I just want to put you on my horse, so we can get back to the house.”

“I am not getting on that horse,” said Hermione emphatically.

“Don't tell me you're scared of horse riding like you are flying?” said Draco exasperatedly, letting go of her.

Hermione fidgeted with her torn dress, trying to cover herself up and not expose anything. “I am not scared of horse riding. Or flying. I'm just not dressed properly, is all.”

“Are you kidding me?” asked Draco incredulously. “What? Do you think my mother is going to take off points because you're not wearing the proper riding attire?”

“No,” said Hermione, getting annoyed. “That is not the reason. I only meant that I am not dressed appropriately to straddle a horse and as you do not have a side saddle, I would prefer to walk.”

“It is frigging pouring rain right now. You are not walking. Just rip your skirt so you can straddle the damn horse.”

“No.”

“What is your problem? It's not like it's not already ruined. Rip it, or I'll do it for you,” said Draco, coming toward her determinedly.

“You touch me again, and I will kill you.”

“And how exactly are you going to do that if you won't use your wand?” said Draco in a bored tone. 

“With my mad ninja skills,” said Hermione, striking a pose. “I took a defense class two summers ago. I could kill you with my bare hands.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Get on the damn horse.”

Hermione took a deep breath, trying to calm herself from the panic that was starting to rise up inside of her. “Okay. I'm going to be honest with you. But I swear, if you laugh, I will kill you. The reason I can't straddle the horse is because... blah blah blah blah blah,” she said, mumbling something completely unintelligible.

“What?”

“I'm not blah blah blah,” Hermione mumbled again.

“I'm sorry. I'm not fluent in troll. Come again?”

“I said, I'm not wearing any knickers!”

“Oh,” said Draco, her predicament suddenly dawning on him. His lips curved up involuntarily.

“Are you smiling?” she snapped.

“No?”

Hermione let out an indignant huff. “Turn around,” she ordered.

“Why?”

“So, I can get on the damn horse!”

With an exasperated sigh, Draco obediently turned around. However, after hearing a distinct ripping sound and then the rustling of the horse, he couldn't help sneaking a peek. He discreetly turned his head ever so slightly just in time to see Hermione hitch up her stocking-clad leg and slide her mud covered shoe into the stirrup. The tear in her dress went up high enough to reveal her bare thigh, and Draco watched completely transfixed as she swung her other leg over the horse to straddle it, revealing a rather interesting and intimate turn of events. Draco may or may not have made some kind of guttural sound in his throat.

“Are you looking!”

“No,” said Draco quickly, snapping his head back around.

“You are no gentleman,” Hermione snapped, quickly adjusting her skirts to cover herself as best she could.

Draco smirked at her. “I have a feeling you're no lady either.”

Hermione smirked back at him. “You got that right,” she said, taking hold of the reins and nudging the horse forward into a fast trot, leaving Draco standing there cursing in the rain.

Only a few minutes later though, she trotted back.

“I knew you'd come back for me,” he claimed, awkwardly hauling himself up on the back of the horse before she changed her mind. “You're too much of a goody-two-shoes not to.”

Hermione sniffed haughtily. “For your information, the only reason I came back was because there was a fork in the road and I didn't know which path to choose.”

“I would have thought a Gryffindor like you would have chosen the path less traveled,” quipped Draco.

Hermione was glad that her back was to him, so that he couldn't see the surprise on her face at his knowing a Muggle poem. “You don't know anything about me. But even if I would have, I couldn't tell which path was the one less traveled anyway because it's bloody raining.”

“Speaking of this bloody rain, hand over the reins so we can get the hell out of here.”

“Why should you get to hold the reins?” Hermione argued.

“Because I know the way to the house.”

“You could tell me where to go.”

“Believe me, I would love to tell you where to go,” Draco cracked. “But all I want to do is get home and have a nice brandy by the fire. So, hand them over.”

With a loud huff, Hermione angrily handed over the reins.

“Can you scooch forward a bit?”

“No and quit grinding into me.”

“I'm not grinding. I'm adjusting.”

“Well, quit it.”

After a moment's pause, Draco couldn't help himself. “Comfortable?”

“No,” Hermione practically growled.

“I'm a bit stiff myself,” joked Draco.

Hermione didn't even dignify that with a reply. They rode the rest of the way in silence. By the time they made it to Austen Manor, the rain had stopped, but the stormy atmosphere between them remained. Lavender and Narcissa, along with two very handsome gentlemen dress in red uniforms, were waiting for them in the drive. Draco slid off the horse and held out a hand for Hermione. She immediately slapped it away and very ungracefully dismounted, flashing the entire party in the process. 

“What ghastly thing happened to you?” Lavender gasped, shocked at the sight of her. “Were you accosted by highwaymen? Were they cute?”

“Disgraceful,” tutted Narcissa, looking Hermione up and down. “Proper young ladies do not get themselves in such compromising situations. There are consequences to such improprieties.”

“What are you going to make me do?” asked Hermione brazenly. “Marry him?”

Narcissa pursed her lips together. “I think not. While the other ladies are practicing their embroidery tomorrow, you can spend your time mending your dress and thinking about your shocking behavior.” Turning her back on Hermione, she addressed Draco. “Where is your pride, Darcy? Cavorting about unchaperoned with a girl who is not your equal. And an impertinent one at that. Thankfully the other ladies in the party haven't arrived yet to witness such scandalous behavior. Go change for dinner. You seem to have sullied yourself.”

“He's supposed to be Darcy?” said Hermione, looking at Draco in disgust. “Is it too late to get my money back?”

“No refunds,” called Narcissa over her shoulder, already halfway to the house.


	4. Improper Introductions

Draco handed the reins to a stable boy who appeared out of nowhere to take the horse.

“Be sure to give him a good rubdown. He's had a long ride,” he said to the stable boy, giving Hermione a snide look.

Hermione's fists clenched at her sides. While she violently wished to wipe that stupid smirk off of his face, she refused to rise to his bait. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was getting to her. So, she pretended to ignore him.

“Darcy, old boy,” said one of the officers. “Aren't you going to introduce us to this enchanting young lady?”

“May I introduce Miss Kitty Bennet. She hails from Longbourn and is one of Miss Lydia's elder sisters. She is also an excellent horse woman. I've never seen anyone sit a horse better.”

Hermione couldn't help glaring at him.

“This is Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham. They are staying as Lady Catherine's guests while the militia is stationed in a nearby town,” said Draco in a bored tone as though he was quoting from a script. “While I find them both to be incredibly idiotic and insufferable to be around; I particularly loathe Mr. Wickham due to some family feud I refuse to talk about.”

“Mr. Darcy jests,” said Mr. Denny, taking her hand. “Although it's too true about his ill-feelings toward poor, mistreated Mr. Wickham.” He then bowed graciously over her hand and added, “May I say that I have never seen a lovelier creature in all my life. How I wish I were a master painter who could capture thy radiant beauty with the mere stroke of my brush. It will be my greatest sorrow that thus I am not and will never be.”

Mr. Denny was very handsome, and it would have been an incredibly romantic moment had she not looked a frightful mess and had his lovely, while admittedly over the top, sentiments not been punctuated by Malfoy's snort of amusement. Luckily, before Hermione lost all sense of decorum and rammed her fist in Malfoy's pointy nose for ruining the whole thing, they were interrupted by the arrival of a servant.

“Excuse me, Miss Kitty, but Lady Catherine said I was to show you to your room so that you could make yourself presentable enough to be seen at dinner this evening.”

“It's all right, Hill. I can show Miss Kitty to her room,” said Draco.

“But that is not proper, sir. Lady Catherine would not approve.”

“Lady Catherine doesn't need to know, now does she?” Draco pointed out rather deviously. “Martin just took Sparkles Pancake back to the stables to give him a good rub down. Perhaps, you could check to see that he is doing a good job of it.”

“Yes, sir,” said Hill eagerly, looking ready to sprint off to the stables.

“And afterwards, you can come back to clean up all of the mud Miss Kitty and I have tracked through the house.”

“Yes, sir,” she obediently said again, although much less enthusiastically.

Draco turned to Lavender and gave a slight bow. “Excuse us, Miss Lydia. I must assist your dear sister to her room before she catches her death. The acute embarrassment she must be feeling over her state of undress may be killing her as we speak. I trust that you will be in good hands with these two less-than-worthy gentlemen?”

“Oh, yes,” said Lavender agreeably. “I am sure I will be in very good hands. Nice big hands with lovely, long fingers. And now that the rain has stopped, we can take a turn in the garden. I remember enjoying the garden very much during my last visit here.” 

“I always say a well-kept garden is fertile ground for social intercourse. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Wickham?” said Mr. Denny, winking at his friend.

“Indeed,” replied Mr. Wickham with a wicked grin. “I adore intercourse in the garden.”

“Oh, dear,” said Lavender, fanning herself with a lace fan. “Austen Manor is the best place in the world. I am so very happy right now. See you later, Kitty.” Linking arms with the two officers, she giddily skipped off to the garden with them. 

“I'm glad at least one of us is having a good time,” said Hermione darkly, watching the trio merrily head off to the garden.

“No, you're not,” observed Draco. “But there is no need to be jealous. Those two are assholes. You can't believe a word they say.”

“Like I can believe a word you say.”

“Hey, I'm an honest person. You're not going to hear me spouting off that nonsense about your so called radiant beauty. How does he even know what you look like? You're covered six inches deep in mud. And your hair is a complete nightmare. If anyone did paint your portrait right now, you couldn't hang it anywhere for fear it would frighten small children. What?” he asked when he noticed the angry expression on her face. “You look like crap. Seriously. If I didn't know any better, I would have thought the horse rode you here.” 

“You are the most vile, horrid, egotistical, miserable excuse for a human being I have ever had the displeasure of knowing. I swear, Malfoy, if I didn't seriously feel as bad as I look right now, I would kick your ass.”

“It's Mr. Darcy to you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You have to call me Mr. Darcy. It's the rules.”

“No,” said Hermione adamantly. “I don't want to. The thought of calling you Mr. Darcy makes me ill.”

“Shall I call for the doctor?” Draco smirked.

Hermione glared at him. “Just show me to my room before I call for the undertaker,” she said through gritted teeth.

Draco laughed. “Touché. Follow me, my lady.”

After walking down corridor after corridor, Hermione finally asked, “Did your mother put me in the creepy tower or something?”

“Yes, something like that. Good thing you enjoy walking so much,” he said jovially.

Hermione let out a harrumph and kept walking.

“Look, I'm sorry we got off on the wrong foot. I don't always make a good first impression,” began Draco.

“Or a second, or a third...”

“And so on and so forth,” finished Draco with a smile. They came to the end of the corridor, and he stopped and turned to her. “Can we start over? Please?”

“Fine,” said Hermione, too tired to fight anymore.

“Hi. I'm Mr. Darcy,” he said, holding out his hand. “I'm proud, have no personality whatsoever, and enjoy nightly dips in the pond.”

Unable to help herself, Hermione laughed. Taking his hand, she replied, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Darcy. I'm Kitty Bennet. I'm silly and stupid and time my coughs ill.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” said Draco, surprising her by bending and kissing her hand. “So, now that we are on civil terms with one another, may I ask you a question?”

“Okay,” agreed Hermione, a bit warily.

“What are you doing here?”

“I didn't know it was your home if that's what you mean,” said Hermione defensively.

“No, I mean, why would you want to get mixed up with all of this foolishness? I always thought you were a sensible person.”

“You think this is foolishness?”

“Yeah. Dressing up, pretending we're something we're not. Don't you think it's all a bit... silly?”

“No. I think it's a dream come true. Well, not what's happened so far, maybe. But having the opportunity to experience what it's like in another time is truly remarkable. _Pride & Prejudice_ is my favorite book. It's always felt like home to me. And now I'm here.” 

“Isn't it funny that what's always felt like home to you is my home?”

“Yeah, that's hysterical,” said Hermione dryly. “Since we're sharing, may I ask you a question?”

“Sure, I'm an open book.”

“Sparkles Pancake?” said Hermione, questioningly. 

Draco looked uncomfortable for a moment. “Sparkles Pancake the Second, to be exact. I named his predecessor when I was just a child. One of our house-elves used to always make pancakes with sparkles in them as a treat for me. They were my favorite, so I, of course, named my horse after them. I was only four,” he said, trying to justify it.

“And how old were you when you named the current Sparkles Pancake?” asked Hermione, giggling.

“Ha, ha,” said Draco sarcastically, opening the door that they had stopped in front of and bowing. “After you.”

Hermione looked in shock at the steep winding staircase before her. “Oh, my God. Your mother did put me in the creepy tower.”

“We never use this wing of the manor anymore. I think a distant ancestor killed herself in this room, but don't let that keep you up at night. I can get you some ear plugs if the moaning gets too loud.”

“Thanks,” said Hermione sarcastically. 

When she reached the top of the stairs, Hermione could hardly catch her breath. It was partly from getting winded climbing up all of those stairs but also because her room was absolutely, figuratively breath-taking. She looked about the room with interest. She had expected to be stuck in the servant's quarters, but this room was surprisingly spacious and opulently decorated. Definitely the wrong era though. This was much earlier. It was filled with priceless antiques, and there was a huge fireplace in one wall that was big enough for her to stand in. She also noticed a luxurious bathroom that must have been added later. She couldn't wait to have a long soak in that lovely claw-foot bathtub.

What really captured her attention, though, was the wall that boasted floor to ceiling bookshelves filled to the brim with beautiful old, leather-bound books that she couldn't wait to get her hands on. She was so entranced by the beauty of the bookshelves that she almost didn't even notice the focal point of the room – an enormous, ornately-carved, canopy bed standing in the very center of the room. Despite the supreme elegance of the room, the thick rugs and heavy draperies in rich shades of red and gold gave the room a cozy, Gryffindorish feel. 

“It's perfect,” she breathed.

“I thought it might be,” he said with a smile, watching her from the doorway

Hermione was so tired from her long journey to Austen Manor that all she wanted to do was strip off her clothes, climb into bed and go to sleep. However, since Malfoy was there, she decided to check out her wardrobe instead.

“All of my dresses are brown,” said Hermione in disappointment.

“Mothers idea of a little joke.”

“Your mother doesn't like me very much, does she?”

“It takes her a while to warm up to people.”

“I suppose making me be Kitty was your mother's idea of a joke as well.”

“No, that was my idea of a joke, actually," he said, leaning casually against the doorway. "Mother was going to make you be Mary, the plain sister, but when I found out there was a character named Kitty, it was just too perfect to pass up. After all, you do have the most experience for the part, seeing as you've actually been a kitty.”

“Yes. How very clever of you,” said Hermione coldly, not sounding at all amused.

“Besides,” continued Draco, not noticing Hermione's change in demeanor, “the actor who plays Mr. Collins is so boring. If I had to listen to him again, I think I'd Avada myself.”

“You shouldn't speak like that,” Hermione reprimanded.

“Oh, would you miss me?” asked Draco somewhat jokingly.

“No," said Hermione, walking toward him. "I only meant that we're not allowed to do magic, so you should shoot yourself or hang yourself. Something appropriate for the period.”

Draco scowled at her.

“See you at dinner, Mr. Darcy,” said Hermione, slamming the door in his face.


	5. Alcoholic Actvities

Hermione felt much better after a long, hot soak in the tub. It was a nice moment to reflect on her time so far at Austen Manor and to think about what exactly she hoped to get out of the whole experience. It also gave her a chance to read that pamphlet Narcissa had given her. And lucky she did because it contained a very useful schedule of events. Without it, she very likely would have been late for dinner, which according to the fine print, meant extra sewing during free time. And extra sewing is something she didn't need, since apparently she was expected to mend the dress that Malfoy had ruined.

Standing in front of the wardrobe in her underclothes, which she had successfully managed to put on all by herself, Hermione tried to decide which brown dress to choose. She was torn between the frumpy dark brown dress and the frumpy light brown dress. Sighing, she closed her eyes and grabbed one. After all, it didn't really matter since they were all equally ugly. According to her schedule, Hill was supposed to come by to help her dress and do her hair, but the servant was nowhere to be seen. Whether she was still in the stable or cleaning the floors leading up to Hermione's room, the odds were she was doing something dirty. Not wanting to be late for dinner, Hermione decided not to wait for the servant to come and did her own hair. She was rather pleased with the result.

Using her map from the pamphlet, Hermione found her way to the drawing room where they were meeting before dinner with only a few minutes to spare. Mr. Denny bowed when she entered the room.

“May I say that you look even lovelier than when I saw you last, Miss Kitty. And I must compliment you on your choice of gown. That shade of deep brown perfectly matches the color of your hair, which by the way is in a most becoming style, as well as your eyes, which are very fine indeed.” Looking her up and down in an appraising manner, he added enthusiastically, “And I see your shoes are also brown. I must say, you are the most coordinated woman I have ever met.” 

“Thank you, but I must give all the credit to Lady Catherine,” said Hermione, glaring over at her hostess, who pretended to ignore her.

“Like a cup of chocolate,” continued Mr. Denny, seemingly unable to stop talking about her appearance. “I could drink you up, I could.”

“So,” began Hermione, hoping to change the subject, “do you enjoy reading, Mr. Denny?”

“I'm more of an adventure man myself. That's why I joined the militia. The excitement and camaraderie of traveling the country with my brothers-in-arms. Never a dull moment, I dare say. But you, Miss Kitty, I am sure are a great reader.”

Overhearing, Draco walked over and answered for her. “I'm sure Miss Kitty is not a great reader and has pleasure in many things.”

“On the contrary, I am a great reader,” Hermione boasted. “And I can assure you that I find most things are not as pleasurable as you think they are going to be,” she added, glaring at Draco.

Feeling the uncomfortable tension between the two of them, Mr. Denny quickly excused himself. “I think Miss Lydia is in need of my assistance over there. Mr. Wickham has quite the reputation, you know. I best make myself useful acting as a chaperon. Wouldn't want anything untoward to happen between the two of them.” 

He bowed and walked over to the other side of the room where Lavender was sitting very close to Mr. Wickham on a small sofa. She had her hand on his knee and was whispering something in his ear. It did not look like Mr. Wickham was taking advantage of her. It was more likely the other way around.

Hermione turned on Draco. “Would you leave me alone,” she snapped.

“I'm sorry, Kitty,” Draco said insincerely. “Did I scare off your new beau?”

“Quit calling me, Kitty!” Hermione hissed.

“I have to. It's in the rules.”

“You may call me, Miss Bennet.”

“Yeah, I don't think so.”

Hermione let out a huff and stomped off to a chair near the fire. The evening was a little warm for a fire, but Hermione was boiling anyway, so she took little notice of it.

“What are you doing sitting by the fire when you could be off playing with fire with one of these handsome men?” asked Lavender, sitting down in the chair next to her. 

“I'm trying to avoid Malfoy,” Hermione grumbled.

“You mean, Mr. Darcy?” asked Lavender, giggling. “I have noticed he stares at you a lot.”

“Probably plotting new ways to vex me,” surmised Hermione.

“I think he likes you,” said Lavender, smirking. “Mr. Denny thinks so, too.”

“What! That's ridiculous.”

Lavender leaned in to whisper in here ear. “Mr. Denny said–”

Narcissa interrupted Lavender's gossiping by ringing a little bell to get everyone's attention.

“I am happy to announce that our other guests have finally arrived. We will make short introductions and then go in for dinner. We will be joined by a gentleman and three ladies.” 

“Too many ladies,” Lavender whispered to Hermione.

However, when the new guests entered the room, there were only two of them. To Hermione's dismay, she recognized both of them. 

“Good God,” gasped Lavender. “What the fuck is Blaise Zabini doing here?”

“Probably the same reason Pansy Parkinson is here,” said Hermione glumly. “To make our lives miserable.”

“You have to hide me,” said Lavender quickly.

“Why?”

“I don't want to see Blaise.”

“Blaise?”

“We've had sex, Hermione. I think I can call him by his first name.”

“You had sex with Blaise Zabini?” said Hermione in shock.

“Would you quit repeating everything I say? Yes, we've had sex. Multiple times. In fact, every time I see him, we end up having sex. That's why I don't want to see him.”

“Here's a novel idea,” said Hermione. “When you see him, why don't you just not have sex with him?”

“Oh, Hermione,” said Lavender, shaking her head. “You are so naive.”

“May I present Mr. Bingley and his sister Miss Bingley,” said Narcissa, addressing the group. “And where are the other two ladies?”

“They apparently changed their minds,” said Pansy.

“I hope they are aware that there are no refunds,” said Narcissa, sounding annoyed.

“But of course,” replied Pansy, smirking.

“I bet she snuffed out the competition,” Lavender whispered, a little too loudly. “We'd better watch out. We might be next.”

Pansy walked dismissively past them, saying under her breath, “You flatter yourselves if you think I actually consider you competition.”

“That bitch,” hissed Lavender as she watched Pansy saunter over to Draco.

“Merlin, Pansy. Put those away,” said Draco, glaring at her breasts squishing out of her tight, low cut gown. “No one here is interested in your 'assets,'” he sneered.

“Just because you aren't, doesn't mean no one else is,” said Pansy haughtily, her eyes focusing on Blaise Zabini. “If your mother would quit trying to push you off on me, I might stand a chance at having a real happy ending.”

“I told her I wasn't interested in you, but she has her heart set on your money. Believe me, I would rather end up with anyone other than you at the ball.”

“Even Granger?” said Pansy, smirking.

“I would rather shoot and hang myself than have to spend an evening listening to Granger lecture me on some stupid thing she read in a book that is of no consequence to me. If I wanted to dance with a book, I'd dance with one of the leather-bound beauties from our library,” said Draco loud enough for Hermione to hear.

“Please head into the dining room now,” ordered Narcissa. “Dinner is ready.”

Scowling, Hermione stomped past Draco and found a seat next to Mr. Denny in the dining room. Dinner was a long affair with too many courses and way too much wine. The food was authentic Regency and some of it was just plain disgusting. One dish she made the mistake of trying was actually sheep's eyeballs. When Mr. Denny graciously informed her what she had just stuck in her mouth, she immediately spit it out. It flew across the dining table hitting Pansy in the eye. If Pansy wasn't an enemy before, she definitely was now. She couldn't help noticing that Malfoy had chuckled when it had happened though. She tried to ignore his presence, but it was rather impossible with him sitting across from her. She felt his eyes on her through the entirety of dinner. 

Mr. Denny was a charming dinner companion, but he asked an awful lot of embarrassing questions. Had she ever been in love? Would she ever consider running away with a lover? Did she have very many suitors? Would she be upset if her lover had a lot of conquests? Had she ever been jealous when a lover spent too much time with another? Hermione tried to answer his questions as best she could, but it was rather difficult seeing as she had never actually been in love. Sure she had fancied Ron for a while, and she had dated a few guys after him, but it was never anything serious. The closet thing to falling in love she had ever experienced was with a fictional character. And she couldn't very well say that she was in love with Mr. Darcy when a so-called real life Mr. Darcy was sitting across the table from her eavesdropping.

After dinner, everyone retired to the drawing room. The room was very hot, and Hermione had forgotten her fan. She was grateful to see a bowl of punch on one of the tables and gladly accepted when Mr. Denny offered to get her a cup. After all of the wine she had nervously consumed during dinner, she was in need of something refreshing to clear her head. She was also quite parched, so instead of a lady-like sip, she took a big gulp. Unfortunately, the punch was spiked with alcohol, and she immediately started choking on it. 

“Please have some discretion with your coughing, Miss Kitty. It is wearing on my nerves as I am sure it does everyone else's,” said Narcissa sharply.

“I don't cough for my own amusement,” Hermione obediently snapped.

“Perhaps it was just for my amusement, then?” Draco joked, earning himself a glare from Hermione.

“It's probably a hairball,” muttered Pansy.

“It was the punch,” Hermione retorted. “Would you care for one?”

“This sure is a roaring fire you have going on here for such a warm night,” commented Blaise, undoing his cravat. “Is it getting hot in here, or is it just me?”

“You can't do that,” began Draco before his mother shushed him.

“We do enjoy a cozy room when we are among friends,” said Narcissa amiably, giving Blaise a rare smile as he began to unbutton his coat.

“You know this isn't proper Regency behavior,” Draco hissed under his breath to his mother. “A gentleman would never undress in a room full of ladies, and you know it.”

“Cut him some slack, dear,” Narcissa replied dismissively, her eyes transfixed on Blaise. “He's new here.”

Draco looked around to see all of the ladies in the room staring spellbound at Blaise as he performed his little after-dinner strip show. Even Hermione's eyes were glued to Blaise as he removed his stiff Regency jacket, leaving him in just his white shirt, which conveniently gaped open at the top, revealing his dark, muscular chest underneath. Blaise seemed to be reveling in the fact that he had commandeered the attention of all of the ladies, and Draco didn't like it one bit. They had always been competitive at school, and Draco wasn't having Blaise one up him in his own home.

“This is completely inappropriate,” Draco snapped. “This is not how we spend a typical evening among friends.”

“You're right, dear,” said Narcissa, snapping back to Regency mode. “We need some music. Do you play, Miss Kitty?”

“Pardon?” asked Hermione, tearing her eyes from Blaise's chest.

“The pianoforte,” said Narcissa. “Do you play?”

“A little,” said Hermione uncomfortably. “But I'd rather–” 

“Then I insist,” Narcissa commanded, not looking as though she would take “no” for an answer.

Hermione took another big swig of the heavily spiked punch to give herself some courage and then walked unsteadily over to the pianoforte. She looked at the selection of music before her and inwardly cringed. Not being familiar with any of the rather difficult pieces to choose from, Hermione was afraid she would not be able to perform up to Lady Catherine's overly high expectations. Never liking to fail at anything, she decided it was best to go with a song that she knew by heart. 

Unfortunately, it really was very warm in the room, and it was difficult to think clearly. There was only one song that was immediately coming to mind, and of course, it had to be a song that her cousin had taught her that was highly inappropriate. Luckily, it was a Muggle song, so no one in the room likely knew it, anyway. As long as she didn't sing along with the music, everything would be fine.

Unfortunately, when she started playing, Lavender recognized the song and, a little drunk from the punch, got up and started singing the rather raunchy lyrics that accompanied the music.

“It's getting hot in here,” Lavender sang rather off-key. “Let's take off all our clothes.”

Really getting into the song, Lavender started to try to really take off her clothes. However, being authentic Regency, that was a really difficult thing to do. After struggling for a while, she ended the song by ripping her bodice open. Not knowing what else to do, Hermione stood up and curtsied as was appropriate. Blaise clapped his hands enthusiastically, but everyone else just stared at them in shock.

“That was frigging awesome,” said Lavender, her eyes shining a little too brightly from all of the alcohol she had assumed. “Do you know the song _Lick it Before You Stick it_?”

Noticing Narcissa's eye start to twitch, Hermione grabbed Lavender's hand and said, “I think it's time we retired for the night.”


	6. Story Sabotage

Hill let Hermione sleep through breakfast, but the servant made sure to wake her up in time to head to the parlor for sewing duties. Hermione looked around the parlor in disgust. The last time she had been in this room, she was being tortured. With a sigh, she picked up her ruined dress that was still damp and stabbed her needle into the fabric, muttering bitterly, “And the torture continues.”

Lavender came in late, looking like she had a killer hangover. She was dragging along the dress she had worn the night before. When she saw Hermione looking at it, she said glumly, “Lady Catherine said I had to mend mine as well. I don't even know how to sew.”

“Didn't you sew last time you were here?”

“No, I used to sneak out to snog Lady Catherine's driver in the carriage. I think she must have found out and fired him because there is a new one now, and he's not at all handsome.”

“Well, just do your best. It doesn't really matter, since no matter what you do, it will never be up to her high standards. Lady Catherine expects much of an accomplished woman.”

Lavender smiled. “You're right. Thanks, Kitty. So, what do I do with this thing anyway?” she asked, holding up a needle.

Hermione took the needle from her, threaded it and then gave Lavender a quick, no frills sewing lesson. They were soon both stabbing away at their dresses taking their frustrations out on their tedious mending projects. It was actually very therapeutic, and Hermione suspected this was one of the reasons why Regency woman did so much of it. 

Tired and still a little hungover, they sewed in relative silence, with the occasional expletive from Lavender when she accidentally stabbed herself with her needle. However, the silence was broken for good with the arrival of Pansy. As soon as Lavender saw her, she burst out laughing.

“Shiver me timbers. What happened ter ye eyyyyye?” Lavender asked through her giggles.

Pansy, who was sporting a new eye patch, glared at her with her one good eye. “It's infected. Because of her,” she said angrily, pointing at Hermione.

“What did I do?” asked Hermione defensively.

“It was that sheep's eyeball. Or your contaminated saliva. I'm not sure which. But now I'm stuck wearing this hideous eye patch.”

“I think it makes you look mysterious,” offered Lavender. “And piratey.”

“Shut up,” snapped Pansy.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” said Lavender, saluting her.

Ignoring her, Pansy turned on Hermione. “I know what you're trying to do. You're trying to get rid of me so that you can have Mr. Darcy all to yourself.”

“That's ridiculous,” Hermione huffed. “I think Mr. Darcy is a proud, snobby, horrible man.”

“I was talking about Draco.”

“So was I,” Hermione snapped.

“Now, now. No need to be so arrrrgumentative,” interrupted Lavender. “Get it? Arrrgh.”

“You can be in denial all you want,” said Pansy, ignoring Lavender, “but I have eyes.”

“Well, one anyway,” joked Lavender.

“I can see the sexual tension between the two of you,” continued Pansy, staring Hermione down with her one eye. “And the way you look at him when you think no one's watching.”

“Perhaps, you should get your eyes checked then,” suggested Hermione with contempt in her voice. “Because you are seeing things that are not there.”

“Perhaps,” said Pansy, not sounding as though she believed that for a minute. “You needn't worry anyway: I'm not interested in Draco. And lucky for you I'm not. Because if I were, you wouldn't stand a chance. I'm still ten times prettier than you, even with only the one eye.”

“I don't care either way,” replied Hermione dismissively. “I told you I wasn't interested in Malfoy.”

“We'll see about that,” said Pansy. “Just remember, I have my eye on you.”

Lavender burst into a fit of giggles again.

With a huff, Pansy sat down with her embroidery and ignored them.

Unable to take anymore of the torture in the parlor, namely Pansy, Hermione excused herself to use the bathroom. Not very well acquainted with the non-creepy part of the Manor, she soon found herself quite lost. Assuming the bathroom would be one of the few unlocked rooms in the house, she started randomly trying doorknobs. After five unsuccessful attempts, she finally found one door that was unlocked. However, when she opened the door, she found something she did not expect to find. Ever. It was Draco Malfoy. Playing the guitar.

He was lying on his bed, his feet bare (she was somewhat surprised he didn't have demon hooves), wearing a faded pair of Muggle jeans and a white button-down shirt. His eyes were focused on the strings of his guitar, and he didn't look up as she gaped at him through the doorway. She had never seen him look so... human. She stood frozen in the doorway, listening to the beautiful music he was playing.

“If you're going to stay for a while, you'd better close the door. Mother will kill me if she knows one of the guests caught me playing non-period music.”

“I'm sorry,” said Hermione, so embarrassed to be caught staring that she forgot she was angry with him. “I was just looking for the bathroom.”

“You can use my private bathroom if you'd like,” Draco offered.

“Oh, I don't really have to go,” Hermione admitted. “I just needed to get out of the parlor.”

Draco's face clouded over. “About that. I'm sorry about my aunt. She was crazy, and I wish I would have done something. I just...”

“No,” Hermione said quickly. “I wasn't referring to that. And I don't blame you for... you know... I meant about being stuck in a room with Pansy, which is torture in itself.”

Draco smiled in relief. “Well, maybe I can make amends now. You can hide out here for a while if you'd like.” When Hermione hesitated, he said, “I can play something more Regency if you prefer.”

“No. It's fine. It's rather nice to step out of character for a while. This whole thing is harder than I thought it would be. I thought I would be an expert but–”

“Mr. Denny is gay,” Draco blurted suddenly.

Hermione's eyes went wide. “Why would you tell me that?”

“I don't know,” said Draco uncomfortably. “I just thought you should know.”

“Well, it kind of ruins the whole romance aspect of things,” said Hermione, sounding put out.

“I didn't want you having unrealistic expectations, is all.”

“I know this isn't real. It's just that you're making it awfully difficult to pretend now.”

“There are other characters you can pretend fall in love with, you know.”

“Like whom? Mr. Wickham? He's Lavender's love interest.”

Draco made a face. “Well... he's more like Mr. Denny's love interest.”

“Seriously?” said Hermione, getting angry. “You are completely ruining this whole experience for me. I paid a lot of money for this holiday. And as your mother keeps reminding me, there are no refunds.”

“I'm sorry. It's just this is a dangerous game we're playing here. Sometimes things get... confusing. Our old Bingley ran off with his love interest. We had to get someone last minute to take his place. That's why we're stuck with Zabini. He's completely inept at playing his part.” 

“I don't think he's that bad,” said Hermione, defending him.

“Please,” Draco scoffed. “He's never even read the book. He's probably never even heard of the Regency era.”

“He has other... attributes,” said Hermione, fumbling a little over the word.

Draco's eyes grew dark. “Well, maybe he can be your new love interest then,” he snapped.

“Maybe he can,” huffed Hermione.

“Good. And when you find out what a cad he is, just make sure whatever you do to him or yourself is appropriate for the period. Because we both know how important that is to you.”

Not having anything to say to that, Hermione walked out, slamming the door behind her. And just when she thought things couldn't get any worse, she ran into Pansy.

“Find what you were looking for?” Pansy asked with a smirk on her face.

“No,” said Hermione, unable to stop the blush on her cheeks from forming. “I must have made a wrong turn somewhere.”

“The bathroom is down the hall, last door on the right.”

“Thank you,” said Hermione stiffly, turning to go.

“You know, Draco's not who you think he is,” said Pansy.

Hermione stopped and turned back around. “Who is he, then?”

Pansy looked at the closed door and then back at Hermione. “Oh, I expect you'll find out soon enough,” she said cryptically and then left without saying another word. 

Hermione stormed back into the parlor. “Lavender, I need your help. Can you give me a makeover?”

“Oh, Hermione!” Lavender squealed, jumping up and taking a hold Hermione's hands. “I've been waiting for you to ask me this since I first met you.”

Hermione glared at her but then seeing the gown Lavender had been working on sewn to the skirt she was wearing, she had to smile. “Are you sure you're up to the fashion challenge?”

“Shit,” said Lavender, looking down to see her handiwork attached to her skirt. “I'm getting sick of all this non-magic crap. I think it's time we busted out our wands. What do you think?”

“I think it's time I took this story into my own hands. I don't care if I do have the crap copper package. I'm going to be Elizabeth Bennet.”

“So, you're going after Darcy, then?” said Lavender, sounding excited about the prospect.

“Hell no. I have my sights set on someone else. Mr. Darcy and his snobby, snarky self can kiss my ass.”

“Is your someone else Mr. Denny? He's not quite as handsome as Mr. Wickham, but he talks prettily enough. And Mr. Wickham adores him. He talks about him all of the time.”

“Um, I don't think I'm Mr. Denny's type,” replied Hermione cautiously.

“Yeah, you don't seem to have a lot of chemistry,” agreed Lavender. “I got lucky with my love interest this time around. Mr. Wickham is hot,” said Lavender. “Oops, I meant to say, he warmeth my loins with his state of hotness.”

“Lavender, about Mr. Wickham,” began Hermione, sounding uncomfortable.

“What? Don't tell me he doesn't like me. Oh, my God. He doesn't like me, does he? I touched his knee last night at dinner and he completely stiffened. And not in a good way. What's wrong with me? Why can't men even pretend to like me? It's his job, for goodness sake,” wailed Lavender unhappily.

Lavender looked so distressed that Hermione couldn't bear to tell her the truth and ruin her Austen experience. “Of course he likes you. Why wouldn't he? Unless he had a very good reason, you know, like something he was born with,” she mumbled. “I only meant to say that Mr. Wickham is shy. Around girls. Because he is. Not around men apparently. Just girls.”

“Oh, good,” said Lavender, sounding relieved. “For a moment there, I thought you were going to tell me he was gay. That would have really sucked balls.”

Hermione laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, it really would have,” she said dryly.


	7. Epic Ending

That evening, Narcissa called Hermione and Lavender into the parlor. Hermione swept into the room with confidence and poise, basking in the glory of her new Lizzie persona. She was wearing an elegant, cream-colored gown and her hair was swept up in a mass of curls that framed her face perfectly. Lavender had really outdone herself, and Hermione kind of wished that she had let Lavender do a makeover on her sooner. Draco, Blaise, and Pansy were playing a rousing game of cards in the corner of the room, but her entrance did not go unnoticed. Blaise whistled softly, and Draco got so distracted by the sight of her that he accidentally lowered his hand of cards and showed the whole table. Pansy, of course, took full advantage of it and used it to win the game.

Narcissa raised her eyebrows at Hermione's makeover but didn't say anything. Instead, she motioned the two of them to sit on a sofa away from the others. She sat down stiffly in the wingback chair next to them with her lips pursed. After an uncomfortable silence, she finally cleared her throat and said, “It seems Mr. Denny has run off with Mr. Wickham.”

“You mean, he kidnapped him?” Lavender gasped.

“No,” said Narcissa, closing her eyes for a moment in an effort to regain her composure before continuing on. “They have apparently... eloped.”

“But that was supposed to be me,” pouted Lavender.

“As I said before, every trip to Austen Manor is unique. This is an adaptation. We make our own stories here.”

“And my story is that my love interest runs off with his gay lover?” said Lavender incredulously.

“It is a bit unusual,” began Narcissa awkwardly.

“It's bullshit, that's what it is,” said Lavender angrily. “I want my money back.”

“There are, of course, no refunds. However,” said Narcissa quickly as Lavender started to rise, “I will, of course, be giving you replacement love interests. Miss Lydia, I expect Mr. Bingley would suit your needs.”

“Absolutely not,” said Lavender. “We went on a few dates during our school years, and I can assure you I find him most disagreeable.”

“A few romps in the broom cupboard do not a date make,” was Blaise's bored reply from across the room.

“I suppose I could switch your love interest with your dear sister's,” replied Narcissa tightly, turning to Hermione. “However, you should be aware that Mr. Bingley is normally part of our gold package. You should consider yourself most fortunate.”

“His package isn't all that,” Lavender muttered.

Blaise walked over and took Hermione's hand and kissed it. “Perhaps Miss Kitty should judge my package for herself.”

Hermione's eyes widened.

Pansy practically flew across the room. “Perhaps, Miss Kitty, you would like to take a turn about the room with me,” she said, taking her arm.

“Um, okay,” agreed Hermione, quite certain she didn't have a choice in the matter.

After several laps about the room with Draco staring at her the whole time from behind his cards, Hermione finally said, “I feel stupid.”

“Look,” hissed Pansy, leaning in close to her ear so no one else could hear. “I know you've been using magic and if you don't want me to tell Narcissa and get you kicked out, you'll do what I say.”

“What do you want?” asked Hermione warily.

“I want Mr. Bingley, and you're going to give him to me.”

“You want me to set you up with your brother?” said Hermione incredulously.

Pansy gave her an exasperated look. “He's not really my brother, you nitwit.”

Hermione glared at her. “Why didn't you just ask to be Jane? I'm sure you paid enough to get to choose your character.”

“Because Jane is a ninny. I identify more with Miss Bingley's character, and she has a much nicer wardrobe. How was I supposed to know Blaise was going to be playing Mr. Bingley? It was Theo Nott last time I was here. But now that I think about it, how hot would it be to get it on with my own brother?”

“You are disgusting.”

“Whatever. Are you going to let me blackmail you, or aren't you?”

“I guess,” said Hermione reluctantly. “What do I have to do?”

“Sit next to Draco at dinner.”

“Why?”

“Because otherwise Narcissa will try to saddle me with him.”

“I don't want to sit next to Malfoy.”

“Would you prefer to be sitting alone at home eating a bag of crisps? Because I can make that happen.”

“You are a bitch.”

“Being a bitch is always in style, no matter what the time period,” was Pansy's haughty reply.

With a very bad attitude, Hermione stalked into the dining room and slumped into the seat next to Draco. “I'm only sitting next to you because Pansy is blackmailing me,” she informed him.

“Are you sure it isn't because of my charm and wit?” he asked, winking at her.

Hermione gave him a cold look. “I'm quite sure.”

"You look beautiful tonight, by the way."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“When are you going to stop being mad at me? So, I told you Mr. Denny was gay. Would you have rather heard it from my mother?”

“It's not just about that. I don't know what it is, but you... frustrate me.”

Draco laughed. “Believe me, the feeling is mutual.”

Hermione glared at him.

“Let's make a deal. If I try not to ruin your Austen experience anymore, will you stop looking at me like you want to hand me a revolver and a rope?”

Hermione couldn't help smiling. “I'll try. So, what's on the menu? More sheep's eyeballs? I can see if I can hit Pansy's other eye.”

“Unfortunately, no. Mother only serves the really disgusting food the first night. She likes her guests to experience a little culture shock.”

“So, what are we going to do to pass the time, then?”

“I say we leave after the first course. Have you seen the garden yet?”

…...............................................................................................................

 

Feeling nervous butterflies in her stomach, Hermione stopped by the bathroom to freshen up, promising to meet Malfoy in the garden in ten minutes. On her way out, she ran into Lavender. She had hay sticking out all over her hair.

“What happened to you?” asked Hermione. "I noticed you weren't at dinner."

“It turns out that my new love interest is the fucking stable boy. I'll admit, he was handsome enough to tempt me, but we were just out fooling around in the hay, and you know what he did?”

“What?”

“He delivered a baby horse.”

“The correct term is foal, but wow. That's amazing.”

“Amazing is not the word I would use. It was more like disgusting. I mean, he stuck his hands in a horse's vagina. His bloody hands were in a horse's vagina. And they were bloody, believe me. I think it was supposed to be romantic, but it seriously killed the mood. I mean, how can you get it on with a guy when you know his hands have been in a horse's vagina?”

“I don't know. I guess I've never thought about it before.”

“Well, the answer is you can't. Well, not without it being an extremely traumatic experience anyway. I'm thinking about asking for a new love interest. Where are you going?”

“I'm meeting Mr. Darcy in the garden,” admitted Hermione.

“Ooh la la!” exclaimed Lavender excitedly. “I guess you did get to be Elizabeth after all. And I think I'll be Jane, since I'm the pretty one.”

“Does that mean you're going after Mr. Bingley?”

Lavender shrugged. “I told you I can't help myself.”

“But what about Pansy?”

“She's only got one eye. She'll never see me coming.”

…...............................................................................................................

Hermione nervously walked into the garden looking for Malfoy. This was the first time she had ever been in the garden, and it truly was a breathtaking sight. The flowers glowed softly in the moonlight, and there was a heady scent in the air that made her feel giddy. It was the perfect setting for a romantic Regency encounter. If it weren't for the fact that she was meeting Malfoy here, she would have thought it had been plucked straight out of one of her dreams.

As Hermione wound her way through the garden, she started to get paranoid that Malfoy wasn't going to show up. She should have found him by now. After walking for a while, she came to a small clearing with a pond. It reminded her of the scene in the 1995 BBC version of _Pride & Prejudice_, when Mr. Darcy dove into the lake. She didn't usually like adaptations that needlessly altered the original work, but that scene was pretty damn fantastic. She stood there admiring the pond and imagining Mr. Darcy emerging from it dripping wet. However, she was snapped out of the dream by the sound of a splash.

When Hermione discovered what had made the noise, she about died. It was Malfoy, and he was swimming right toward her. She watched with wide eyes as he reached the end of the pond and stood up dripping wet. His white shirt and tan trousers clung to his body in a very sexy way. Unable to take her eyes off him, Hermione stared at him in shock as he walked toward her. 

“That... that wasn't in the book,” was all she could manage to say.

“I know,” he said huskily, leaning in close enough to kiss her. “Think of it as a bonus.”

“Why are you doing this? I thought you believed this was all foolishness.”

“I do. I feel like a right fool. I think I have a lily pad stuck in my pants, and it's damn uncomfortable. But I know this is important to you. And I like you. Will you do me the honor of giving me the first two dances at the ball? Oh, hell with propriety. I want all of your dances. And if Mr. Bingley even comes near you, I will challenge him to a duel. Please tell me you'll save all of your dances for me.”

“I don't know what to say.”

“Say yes,” said Draco softly, leaning in to kiss her.

Hermione's eyes were fluttering shut and her lips were about to touch his when she suddenly panicked and shouted, “I love house-elves!”

Draco tried not to look offended. That was not quite the declaration of love he had expected.

“I can't do this,” said Hermione. “I didn't know how this was going to make me feel at the end. Now I know what you were talking about when you said this is a dangerous game we are playing. I hate to admit it, but Ginny was right. It's time I unstuck my nose from my book and found out what it's like to really live. This is a fantasy. You're a fantasy. A really lovely fantasy. But I need something real.”

“I'm your fantasy?”

“Yes. No. I don't know,” said Hermione, getting confused. “But it doesn't matter. A fantasy isn't what I'm looking for anymore. Goodbye, Mr. Darcy.”

…...............................................................................................................

 

One week later, Hermione was back in the wizarding world and working at the Ministry in the Magical Creatures Protective Services Division. She was filling out some paperwork on a recent house-elf visit she had performed when Draco Malfoy walked into her office.

“What are you doing here?” she said in surprise. 

“I decided it was time to hang up my Mr. Darcy cravat and take a job at the Ministry.”

“You're working in this office?” Hermione practically squeaked.

“I've been living in a fantasy world for a long time. I'm ready to experience something real.”

“So, you got tired of all the foolishness at home, then?” said Hermione a tad bitterly.

“I'm sorry that I said the whole Austen thing was foolishness. I didn't understand it before, but I think I do now. Sometimes the world doesn't live up to what you want it to be, and it's just nice to get lost in a good book. And there is nothing wrong with that as long as you can find your way back. You found your way back, and I'm glad, but the only problem is, you left me behind. What happened between us at Austen Manor wasn't a game to me. It was real. You just ran off before I could tell you.”

“I don't know what to say,” began Hermione.

“Can we start over? In reality.”

“We don't even know each other in reality.”

“I can fix that,” said Draco holding out his hand. “Hi. I'm Mr. Malfoy, but you can call me Draco. I enjoy smirking, playing the guitar, and nightly dips in the pond.”

After only a moment's hesitation, Hermione accepted his hand and replied, “Nice to meet you, Draco. I'm Hermione Granger. I enjoy reading, horse riding, and the thought of you taking nightly dips in the pond.”

Not letting go of her hand, Draco asked, “Do you think there's a chance I could still be your fantasy now that I'm no longer Mr. Darcy?”

Hermione nodded. “But... maybe you could still whip him out for special occasions?”

Draco pulled her in closer. “So, don't these stories usually end with a kiss?”

“Actually,” said Hermione, smirking, “they usually end with a wedding.”

Draco's eyes went wide.

Hermione laughed. “Don't worry, we're not to the ending of this story yet. I think this is just the beginning.”

“So, what type of story is this? Adventure? Fairy tale? Romance? Fantasy?” he asked, raising his eyebrows up and down suggestively.

“How about all of the above?” suggested Hermione, finally leaning in to kiss him.

Snogging Draco Malfoy in the middle of her office was not exactly something she had ever imagined happening in the story of her life, but if the 1995 BBC version of _Pride & Prejudice_ had taught her anything, it was that sometimes adaptations could be pretty damn fantastic.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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